by Tonya Kappes
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I was already exhausted and the day wasn’t nearly over.
“I’m working on that.” He grinned as though he had something up his sleeve. “Give me your thoughts.”
“All the signs point to Myrna, but it doesn’t feel like she did it. In fact, there is no way she’d have the strength to hog-tie his ankles around an active electric fence.” I tapped the wheel with my fingers.
“If he was already passed out, then she could’ve rolled him.” He shrugged.
“Max did tell Betty that he found some poison. That’s why we’re here,” I said.
“Poison?” Poppa’s brows furrowed.
“Someone had to have poisoned him first, then tied him up, which could’ve been Myrna.” I took the keys out of the ignition and grabbed my bag off the floorboard. “Let’s go.”
Poppa and I walked up to the old house that had been transformed into the funeral home, just like most businesses in Cottonwood. The two-story brick home had fifteen-foot ceilings, along with rich crown moldings, large door frames, and hardwood floors that made it a perfect funeral home. Creepiness exuded in there. Not to mention how the basement had completely been remodeled into a morgue equipped with all the latest technology, including quick lab results.
Max had on his usual blue lab coat, big goggles, and scalpel in hand and stood over Owen.
“Kenni.” He waved me over. The scalpel clinked when he placed it on the metal table. “I’m preparing Owen for cremation. The autopsy report is on the counter over there with your name on it.”
“Betty said something about a poisoning?” I asked, walking over to the counter and picking up the manila envelope.
“I think that’s what killed him. I definitely rule this a homicide, though we already thought that.” He continued to finish up on Owen. “It’s going to take a few days, maybe weeks to get back all the results, but I’ve seen it before and it looks like a poisoning by antifreeze. It’s practically tasteless and can be disguised in liquids, food, really anything.”
“Now it’s official.” I sighed, knowing that now I had to handle the information I was collecting in a different way. “And anything Myrna Savage told me is going on the record.”
Luckily I had learned to read Max’s bad handwriting and looked in the Marks and Wound section.
“Postmortem ankle wounds,” I noted. “Probable cause of death, poison ingestion.”
He also wrote in the report how he thought Owen had probably ingested some antifreeze that was disguised by the drink he’d had in his empty stomach.
Farther down, the “homicide” box was checked, making this an official murder investigation.
“That means that the poison killed him and they likely wanted to cover it up by using the barbwire.” Poppa looked over my shoulder. “Whoever did this thinks you are going to look for whoever owns that particular barbwire. Definitely post-mortem, and the poison killed him.” Max waved me over again. “Look here.” He lifted the sheet off of Owen’s very clean feet. “There was no blood at the scene—that was my first clue—but I wanted to run the autopsy test before I planted anything in your head. Sometimes I’m wrong, but rarely.” He grinned. “This is definitely barbwire electric fencing. See.” He grabbed a piece off the tray and wrapped it around Owen’s ankles. The holes matched perfectly. “Check this out.”
I followed him over to the sink, where he’d taken out the organs for examination and weighed them. He held Owen’s heart in his hands.
“This is damage to the heart caused by the electric shock.” He pointed and I leaned over to get a better look. “Whoever did this poisoned him through his drink. It was likely antifreeze, so Owen didn’t taste it.” He put the heart down and picked up the vial of blood. “Very small traces. They gave him just enough to kill him. They knew what they were doing. Then once he was dead, they really wanted to make sure he wasn’t coming back by giving him a good jolt of electricity.”
Poppa stood over near the report. “What about his feet?”
“What do you think about him having no shoes? Was he placed at the scene?” I asked.
“Definitely.” Max nodded his head. “I think he went to see someone he’s friends with or thought he was friends with. Took his shoes off at the door and wherever that was is where he was murdered,” Max said. Poppa’s analysis sounded pretty spot on. Max continued, “Everything else on the autopsy is normal but the damage of the heart. Ears, nose, eyes all symmetrical, body fluids functioning.”
Poppa read the autopsy where I skimmed down to the nitty gritty.
“The facts are these.” I was looking at Max, but talking to Poppa. “Owen Godbey was murdered. His initial cause of death is poison from a drink and a little oomph with the electric shock for good measure. Then there’s Myrna, who had fired Owen.”
“She what?” Max’s jaw dropped. “When did this happen? And why on Earth didn’t she say anything last night?”
“According to her, she fired him a couple of days ago because she caught him with his hands in her recipe box she keeps in the greenhouse. A recipe box that was made by her aunt to help grow the best flowers around. And she didn’t tell us because she wanted to call in Wally Lamb because she knew it looked bad.”
“This case is getting stranger and stranger.” Max peeled off his gloves and rested his behind on the edge of the counter. “So you are thinking Myrna?”
“Not necessarily. First off, if it was Myrna, she had to have help, because she is no bigger than a minute and there is no way on this earth that she carried him to the greenhouse and plunked him down inside. Besides,” I reminded him, “she’s worked too hard on those tomatoes to even think about not moving them first.”
“We can’t say she did it in haste because poisoning and the electric fence were definitely premediated.” Max’s voice fell away. Both of us were stumped.
“I don’t know anyone who didn’t like Owen.” Max scratched his chin. “Except Sandy Godbey. Have you checked her out?”
“Betty Murphy is doing it as we speak.” I looked down at my walkie-talkie. It was unusual not to have heard from Betty and that worried me. Betty might be older and hard of hearing, but she could find things better than my old hound dog. She had all her fingers in different little gossip circles.
“If anyone can find Sandy, it’s Betty.” Max grinned. “Or Edna Easterly.”
“Yep. You’re right.” I winked. “Edna Easterly has been trying to steal her from me for years for the Chronicle’s gossip column. Both of those women might have a tidbit of information here and there that I can piece together.”
Poppa smiled. “You sure are smart, Kenni-bug. Edna knows everything that goes on around here, including the likes of Sandy Godbey.”
“There is a little snafu with this mess.” Max’s words hung between us as I waited to hear the rest. “Owen and his ex-wife Sandy had made arrangements and he never changed them.”
“I’m assuming since you are getting him ready for cremation that was in there.” My brows furrowed because this wasn’t news.
“Yes, he is to be cremated, but his remains are to go to Sandy.” He eased himself up from the counter and solidly stood on his two feet. “Which means by law I can’t give him over to Stanley as he is insisting.”
“Then this is more reason for me to find Sandy.” I sure hoped Betty Murphy was able to use her gossip resources to find her. Or that Edna would.
“That’s not all.” The tone of his voice made me pause. “He wants to be cremated with his truck.”
“His truck?” I questioned whether I heard him correctly.
“He did love that old truck.” Max shrugged. “And I’ve cremated beloved pets for some and kept them here or even had the deceased’s family members bring in the remains so they could be cremated again or stuck in the casket.”
“But a hunk of junk?” My inst
incts told me something wasn’t right here.
Poppa ghosted next to me. “Something tells me to get to that truck.”
“I agree,” I said, my voice lowered.
“You agree to what?” Max asked, handing me a piece of paper.
“Um…” I bit my lip. “I agree you can’t give Owen’s remains to Stanley. It’s against the law.”
I looked down at the paper. It was a copy of the arrangements Owen and Sandy had made. It specifically said that Owen was to be cremated along with his truck. There was an impound lot over in Clay’s Ferry, a town next to ours that was still considered small but bigger than Cottonwood.
“Calling all units, calling all units.” Betty’s shrill voice cracked over the walkie-talkie.
“Go ahead.” Finn’s voice came across, catching me a little off guard. Up until now, all units had been just me.
“I’m here,” I said back, my ear tilted.
“I didn’t hear anything about Sandy Godbey yet, but I’ve got feelers out. But I did get some information that is new to me.” She clicked off.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Did you know that after Myrna fired Owen, he went to work for Rowdy Hart? I even heard they were pretty good friends. He might know something.” Betty’s voice cracked. “I’ll check on it and let you know if I hear anything.”
“Kenni, I just left Tractor Supply, where I got invited to Cole’s tonight.” Finn had found his in. “As for the electric fence, they haven’t sold that type of fencing in years.”
“Thanks, Finn and Betty. I’m going to go follow up on a lead and I’ll meet you back at the office later.” I clicked off and looked at Max. “When are you going to tell Stanley he can’t have the remains?”
“Sign off on the autopsy, I’ll give you a copy, and then I’ll cremate him.” Max’s face grew still. “Then I’ll call Stanley and tell him. He is not going to be happy.”
“Let me look at the truck before you have it hauled off to the impound lot.” I walked over to the counter and signed the autopsy paper.
“Too late.” Max’s lips turned down. “I already called them to pick it up.”
“Crap.” I grabbed my copy of the autopsy and ran out of the morgue.
Chapter Eleven
I jumped in the Jeep and grabbed the old siren beacon from the backseat. After I rolled down the window and licked the suction cup, I stuck it on top of the roof and flipped the switch. The old siren blared and everyone pulled out of the way when they saw me coming.
“That was the best thing I ever bought.” The pride showed on Poppa’s face. “When Doolittle Bowman and Wyatt Granger wanted me to get those fancy sheriff cars with the built-in lights, I fiddle-faddled them. They always wanted to spend unnecessary funds in the budget.”
“I agree.” The Wagoneer was pushed to the limits. I had to get to that impound lot before they did anything to Owen’s truck. I had to make sure that there wasn’t evidence in there.
“Betty,” I called in the walkie-talkie.
“Go ahead, Sheriff.” I was happy she responded so quickly.
“Finn, are you here?” I asked.
“Over.” His voice was solid and straight to the point.
“Betty, I need you to make a copy of the search warrant we’d gotten for Owen Godbey. I forgot my copy on the desk. And then I need you to give that to Finn. This takes precedence over everything.”
“Got it,” Betty chirped back.
“Finn, I need you to go grab that and bring it to…” I hesitated, looking over at the piece of paper.
“S&S Auto Service,” Poppa whispered, reading off the paper.
“S&S Auto Service in Clay’s Ferry.” I mouthed “thank you” to Poppa and smiled. It was almost like old times. Even though he wasn’t supposed to talk to me about open investigations back then, he did. We would cook supper together and talk about his cases, coming up with different scenarios. Some of them were right. Most were not and far-fetched, but it was a lot of fun. That was how I knew I wanted to go into the same line of work.
“Why all of this?” Finn asked.
“Owen and his ex-wife already had funeral arrangements in place. He was to be cremated along with his truck and she is to get the remains. Something tells me that there has to be something in that truck. I at least want to check it out before they smash and burn it.”
“I’m out at his trailer now, and there is no truck and no cookbooks either. I’m on my way, Betty. See you shortly, Kenni,” Finn’s voice echoed out of the walkie-talkie.
“Kenni…” Betty giggled as though she had a secret.
“Sheriff,” Finn corrected himself and clicked off.
“Goodbye, Betty.” I clicked off.
“You can wipe that grin off your face.” I could feel Poppa’s stare.
“When you hear his voice, you get a glow that I know all too well.”
“I’m just trying to get this murder solved.” I kept both hands on the wheel and tried to concentrate on the curvy country road that lead into Clay’s Ferry.
“You are just like me in the job department, but just like your mama in the love department.” His ghost continued to speak and I tried to tune it out by going faster and faster. “You have the same look on your face she had when she told me about your daddy for the first time.”
“Are you back in ghost form to help me solve crimes or talk about nonsense?” My fingers hurt from gripping the wheel.
I had no time for romance. Especially office romances during an election season.
“Poppa?” I looked over and he was gone. I was sure I’d hurt his feelings and wanted to make it right, but he was good at disappearing. Still, I had a job to do and spending time fantasizing about something as silly as a romantic relationship was a waste of time...right now.
S&S Auto was on the outskirts of town and I could see why. Cars upon cars were stacked miles long and the land alone it took for them to have this business was massive.
The chain-link fence was nice and tidy all the way around the perimeter. When I pulled the Jeep inside the gate, I could tell they took their business seriously. The rows of cars were stacked nice and neat, not the typical junk yard or impound lot I’d had to dig through before.
The sign on the front door of the office was turned to open; they closed at five p.m., which was in a few minutes. The bell over the door dinged my arrival and an older woman with her brown hair fixed in a chin-length bob looked up over the computer.
“Hi, there.” She had a sweet smile. She stood up. She ran her hand down her peach knit top and stopped just shy of the waist of her brown trousers. “What can I help you with today, Sheriff?” she asked.
“I’m Sheriff Lowry from Cottonwood.” I stepped up to the desk and handed her one of my business cards from the front pocket of my shirt. “I’m here to inquire about a truck that belong to Owen Godbey.”
“Let me see.” She sat back down and ticked away on the computer. Her eyes drew up to mine. “Yes. The truck was transported earlier this morning.”
“I’m assuming in an outfit as big as this, the truck hasn’t been destroyed.” I prayed it hadn’t and there’d been many more vehicles in front of Owen’s truck.
“In cases such as this one, we try to get them done as quickly as possible for the family. Closure.” She swiveled her eyes upward. The smile she’d worn a few minutes ago was no longer there. Her lips thinned. “Thank you for checking on it.” She stood up, her way of politely telling me that my time was up.
“I’m going to ask you if you could pull the truck for me.” I might as well start by asking for what I wanted. “I’m going to need to go over the truck before you destroy it.”
“I’m sorry, did you say you had a warrant for the truck?” she asked with narrowed eyes.
“Did you know Mr. Godbey?” I asked, since she seemed to b
e taking this request so personal. “You seem awfully offended by my request.”
“I did not, but I do take our clients personally and when you come in here asking for me to bring the truck back out, I’m assuming it’s for police business and for that I’d need a warrant, not a nice smile and worn-out looking business card.” The bitter words spilled out of her mouth.
“Hey.” Finn bolted through the door. His chest heaved up and down. “I hurried to get this here.” He handed me the warrant issued by the judge and bent over to catch his breath.
“I do have a warrant.” I handed it to the woman.
She took it and looked it over before she got on the phone. She turned her back to us and whispered to the other person on the line.
“It will be up in a moment. Did you bring a tow?” she asked.
“I can drive it back to Cottonwood.” I said and walked outside, Finn following. When we were safely out of earshot, I said, “She was all smiles and pretty ponies when I walked in there. When I asked about the truck, she got a couple cups of nuts asking for the warrant. I’m going to need you to bring me back to grab my Jeep later,” I said. Finn was a good deputy so far.
I opened the door of the Wagoneer and took out a couple of pairs of gloves.
“Will do,” he said. The rattle of metal sounded in the background. “I hope this truck has some evidence or answers because nothing substantial is really turning up so far.”
He was right. The only thing we had was pure speculation.
The truck came barreling down one of the car aisles. A big burly man with a curly mullet got out. He wore a pair of blue mechanic overalls.
“You sure are lucky you made it here in time.” He patted the truck. “This baby was next.”
“We can take it from here.” I stepped up and took Owen’s keys from him. “Thank you.”
I put on the gloves and opened the door. I noticed the seats had been slashed up. “What happened to the seats?” I called after the man.
